Loose Ends
by Shuri 'in a world of black and white
Summary: After living through another war and witnessing some heartbreaking losses, Dearka realizes it is time to return to Orb to tie the one loose end he left behind.
1. Chapter 1

_So this is actually a spin-off from my other fanfic, _Remembrance_. I refer to it a few times throughout this fic, so if you are a little confused, go ahead and read it too! (What? No, of course this isn't a shameless plug. I don't know what you are talking about.)_

_This fic is set after the GSD timeline, after the world more or less got back on track.  
><em>

_I disclaim._

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><p>The tropical sun burned down on him as he disembarked from the shuttle.<p>

It had been close to two years since he had last been in Orb. Or Earth, really. He narrowed his eyes at the blinding glare of the sun. He had forgotten how harsh its light was; the imitation they had up in the PLANTS was nothing like the real thing. Aside from the fact, of course, that he had spent a large portion of the last two years in a warship where halogen lamps were the only source of light.

He breathed in the air. It smelled of the sea, and he felt a dull pang in his heart.

_She_ loved the sea.

They used to spend countless hours on the beach, talking and laughing. The months he spent with her were probably the happiest time of his life; her presence alone used to make him so happy, whole. Simply hearing her voice soothed him of the pain and horrors of the war. It was strange, but it was wonderful. He had been involved with many women before her, but only she –a relatively plain, relatively ordinary Natural girl- invoked that kind of peace within him.

He shook his thoughts off as he walked through immigration. He was making it sound as if she was dead; she had survived both wars and was still living in Orb as a freelance photographer. He had no right to be so goddamned sentimental, when she wasn't even completely gone from the world. He recalled his best friend's grief-stricken face as he pulled his loved one out of a crushed MS cockpit, and his anguished howl as the light left her eyes. _That_ had been a true tragedy, and his problems dwarfed in comparison to his friend's suffering.

But then again, even though she _was_ alive, she might as well have been dead to him.

His steps grew heavy as he stepped out of the airport. It had been about half a year since the ceasefire of the Second Bloody Valentine War, but there were still remaining scars from the war in the beautiful horizon of Orb. Of _her_ home.

"Dearka!"

He turned around, and saw a familiar blue head among the greeters. He wiped away his previous expression and replaced it with a smile.

"Athrun, long time no see, man."

Athrun's friendly green eyes was a more reassuring welcome than he could have hoped for.

"Is that all you have?"

Athrun said, pointing at his suitcase. He nodded, and Athrun led him to the parking lot.

xoxox

Within five minutes, the two were on their way to the Athha estate. Dearka ran his hands over the leather-covered seats of Athrun's black convertible.

"Geez, could you _have_ a flashier car?"

Athrun laughed good-naturedly at his comment. Laughter sounded so foreign after months in ZAFT and dealing with Yzak.

"I do make a decent living as the ambassador to Orb."

"Glad to see our tax money being put to good use."

Athrun chuckled again.

"Thought you would have come here sooner."

Dearka ran his fingers through his hair and looked out of the window. The sun was setting into the ocean, leaving the sky and the water a million different shades of red and yellow. He had never known that there were so many colors on the spectrum until he met her.

"Couldn't. The Council and ZAFT were both in pieces, and it took a while for things to settle down."

"I can only imagine."

They were silent for a few minutes until Athrun asked hesitantly.

"How's Yzak?"

Dearka sighed. His friend had probably lost more to the war than anyone else he knew. It pained him to see Yzak pretend like nothing was wrong, working like a madman until ridiculous hours at night, when he probably wished nothing more than to shut himself off from the rest of the world.

Yzak was strong, but nobody was _that_ strong.

"He's…functioning. Barely. I don't know, Athrun. He insists that he is fine, and you know him –if he says he's fine, then he's not gonna give us anything else."

"You knew his girlfriend too, right?"

"Yeah. She was…perceptive. She was an intense person, kind of like Yzak but in a less obnoxious, less violent way."

"Do you think he will be able to let go?"

Dearka leaned his head on the window.

"…They were engaged. And you know he doesn't do shit like that unless he really means it."

He saw Athrun's grip on the steering wheel tighten. He closed his eyes; while he was nowhere as devastated as Yzak was, the death of Shiho Hahnenfuss was still a painful memory in his head. They had been teammates through the Second War, after all. He could still feel the bile in his throat whenever he recalled her mangled body, the blood, and the smell of burning flesh. Seeing his trusted superior and teammate die such a gruesome death was scarring, to say the least; he could not imagine having to witness someone he loved die that way.

"_You are mad at yourself for letting her go."_

Her voice still rang in his head. She was right. She had always been right. And her death, watching Yzak fall apart in front of him, taught him a greater lesson than the years at school or his term in the military.

_There was no guarantee for anything in the world._

When Shiho died, he came to the realization that _she_ could as well, at any moment, out of his reach. It was the last push he needed to return to Orb to tie the one loose end he had left behind.

But as the lights of the Athha estate appeared over the horizon, he could feel a growing anxiety in his heart.

xoxox

"Dearka Elsman!"

He was greeted with a bear hug as soon as he stepped into the mansion, and he could not help but smile. The Chief Representative may have become a more mature, capable leader, but she had not changed at all inside. Athrun let out an amused laugh behind him.

"Cagalli, you gotta let me breathe."

The blonde girl scoffed at him.

"Like you're that fragile. Come on in, I've been starving waiting for you guys to show up!"

He had no idea how Cagalli managed to fit such a huge smile on such a small face. He glanced at Athrun, who simply shrugged. Dearka smirked; the valedictorian of the ZAFT military academy was really nothing more than the perfect example of a whipped boyfriend.

The three ate dinner in the kitchen; Cagalli hated the dining room, Athrun explained, because it was too big and airy and formal. In Dearka's humble opinion, the kitchen was still pretty darn big. It was definitely larger than his dorm room in ZAFT, at least. But of course, that meant nothing when his dorm room was hardly the size of a broom cabinet.

They talked happily for hours, catching up on the last few years of their lives that had been nothing but hectic. Cagalli complained about the other hardheaded representatives that apparently existed simply to make her life infinitely more complicated, while Dearka retaliated with stories about some PLANTS Council members who even Lacus Clyne wanted to strangle. Athrun mostly laughed through the conversation, but even he had a few interesting episodes about catching his secretary and his aide hooking up in his office.

"Oh, how's Kira by the way?"

Cagalli asked while stuffing her mouth full with chips, and Athrun also looked at him curiously. Dearka sighed; Kira Yamato was currently the ambassador of Orb to the PLANTS, just like how Athrun was the ambassador of the PLANTS to Orb. Even he agreed that they were both perfect for the job, but it seemed too much like a conspiracy by Cagalli and Lacus to keep their respective boyfriends at bay.

"He's doing perfectly fine. Although if they keep jumping at each other like bunnies, they're gonna end up with little super coordinator babies pretty soon."

Cagalli and Athrun both blushed furiously, and Dearka leaned in with a teasing smile.

"So what about you guys?"

Cagalli choked on her food and started coughing violently. Athrun gave him a death glare, which would have been much more threatening if he did not look like an overripe tomato.

"Wha…what are you… What do you…"

Cagalli finally managed to sputter, and Dearka burst out in laughter. It was refreshing to have people actually react to teasing for a change. Kira and Lacus managed to wear that same gentle, unfazed smile despite his best attempts at embarrassing them. And Yzak…Yzak was still in no shape for any kind of joking.

"Well Dearka, why'd _you_ decide to come here all of a sudden?"

Cagalli asked, obviously desperate to change the subject. Her question instantly sobered him up, and he sighed.

"You're _such_ a party pooper, Cagalli."

"Shut up."

He sighed again, making sure to look away from the two before he answered.

"I wanted to see Miriallia."

It was the first time he dared to mentioned her name since they broke up, but it hurt much, much less than he was expecting. He was fine. The world did not come crashing on him, or threaten to tear him up into pieces. He slowly returned his gaze to the two, who only looked mildly surprised.

"I didn't know you still kept in touch with her."

"I don't."

"So this is like a surprise visit?"

Dearka had to fight the urge to glare at his friend. Athrun was one of the friendliest, most harmless people he knew, but there were the rare instants when he was incredibly naïve. Fortunately, Cagalli beat him to it by slapping the back of Athrun's head. Athrun simply looked at her like a lost puppy.

"What was that for?"

"For being extremely thick. Anyhow, I'm thinking it's getting pretty late and you're probably tired from the trip, so…"

She glanced at Athrun, who nodded. They stood up and Cagalli led them back to the front door, where they exchanged brief goodbyes.

As soon as Athrun started up his car, Dearka looked at him incredulously.

"Seriously, you guys aren't living together _why_? She's got a house that's five times bigger than anyone would need."

Athrun stepped on the gas, throwing them both against the back of their seats.

"Because that would be the biggest scandal in the history of Orb. She can't risk that kind of publicity, at least not yet."

"Not yet?"

Dearka joked, but Athrun's answer was in complete earnest.

"Hopefully, one day."

Dearka looked at his friend in amazement and let out a defeated chuckle. If only he had that kind of resolve and sincerity back then, things probably would not have ended with Miriallia. But he was still a kid –an arrogant, self-centered teenager who too caught up in his own pain too see through her scars.

He needed to redeem himself, to atone for the biggest mistake in his life.


	2. Chapter 2

He woke up the next morning in Athrun's couch. He groaned as he sat up; his neck was sore, and his right arm had been tucked under him in an extremely uncomfortable angle. He blinked at the blinding sun shining in through the windows before he could remember where he was and why he was there.

He groaned again when he read the clock. It was past noon. But then again, he was not exactly a morning person, and he could not remember the last time he actually got to sleep in. Rebuilding a country after its administration had been torn into pieces was no easy task. He had a new-found respect for Yzak after experiencing the political chaos for himself. Yzak had been the only one out of the gang –with the exception of Cagalli, but then, she _was_ the daughter of Uzumi Nara Athha- who had been there both times, fully committing himself to the welfare of his homeland.

But he did not come all the way over to Orb to worry over his friend.

As he stood up, he saw a note left on the kitchen counter. Dearka smiled to himself. These were the moments when he could not help but doubt Athrun's masculinity; the blue haired boy had every trait a man would want in a dutiful girlfriend. He supposed that suited Cagalli with _her_ distinctive lack of femininity. They complimented each other, in a way.

The note, written in Athrun's neat, even handwriting, told Dearka that he had already left for work. There was some leftover pizza in the fridge if Dearka wanted any, but there was an excellent French bakery down the road. The blonde laughed; it was cute how Athrun seemed to think anyone would choose cold, hard pizza over freshly baked baguettes.

He ruffled his hair while he walked to the window. It was another beautiful, sunny day in Orb –there were children splashing each other in the beach. He smiled. He had almost forgotten how much he loved all of this.

xoxox

After he had sufficiently satisfied his hunger, he took to strolling in the streets.

It was all very familiar, really. While he did not recognize it in the dark the night before, Athrun's apartment was very close to where he and Miriallia used to live after the First War. He knew the streets, the shops and the landmarks by heart. Nothing had changed dramatically, and if he tried hard enough, he could convince himself that he was just taking another walk on the way back to his old apartment.

He laughed at himself. He also did not come all the way to Orb to play pretend.

His walk came to a sobering halt when he passed by a small gallery. He initially could not figure out why it made him stop; there were a good number of galleries in the area, and this one certainly was nothing special. He stared into the window for a few seconds before the realization hit him.

It was the photographs on display.

Dearka ruffled his hair. It was absolutely ridiculous how she seemed to dominate so much of his consciousness even now. Apparently two years was not long enough for him to stop automatically associating every photograph ever taken with her. He scoffed at himself, wondering when he turned into such a girl, but he did not try to fight the temptation to enter the gallery.

The owner of the gallery scowled at Dearka briefly when he entered the door. Dearka could only sigh. He knew he did not look like the type who could appreciate photographs that did not have blonde, busty women on them, but it would have been nice if people gave him the benefit of the doubt once in a while. He almost wanted to approach the man and prove that he knew more about art than most people expected him to, but quickly returned his focus on the photographs on the wall.

They were beautiful, if somewhat generic. Beautiful landscapes, plants, a portraits of beautiful women with very white teeth. He continued to walk along the walls, until he came across one that was clearly different from the others. At first glance, it could have been another picture of a peaceful field. But Dearka knew better than that; he had seen many scenes like this one before.

It wasn't supposed to be a field. Everything that had stood on that ground had just been torn down by a brutal battle. He could still make out the foundations of some of the buildings, and objects that distinctly resembled windows or doors or furniture was scattered around the field. The only thing that remained standing in the picture was a portion of a wall. Below the wall lay an arm of a mobile suit. Just one arm.

It was the aftermath of war.

Dearka involuntarily clenched his fist. Even though he had spent a significant portion of his short life on the battlefield, the concept of war was not something he had exactly come to terms with. It was wrong, brutal and painful. Every single time he put on his pilot suit, every single time he launched his mobile suit, there was always a part of him that believed what he was doing was wrong.

And the photograph in front of him embodied everything that was wrong about it.

War destroyed towns, cities, civilizations –things people had constructed over hundreds and thousands of years, since the beginning of time. In an instant, an entire people could be wiped out. An entire town could be reduced to the ground. And the arm of the mobile suit could just as easily have been the arm of a person. A person like himself, made out of flesh and blood. And it did not matter whose side you were on, or what you were fighting for. The end result was always the same. People died, and people suffered. There was nothing but death on a battlefield.

He was so engrossed in the photograph that he did not notice the owner of the gallery quietly walk towards him.

"Do you like this picture?"

The quiet voice of the owner startled Dearka. He furrowed his eyebrow, not knowing how to respond. Despite the grim subject, the photograph itself was breathtakingly beautiful. But it was not the aesthetic aspect that caught his attention. The photograph appealed to him at a much more intuitive level. Something about it spoke to his soul; the photograph in front of him was not another pretty picture, but it was reality. _His_ reality, _his_ world that he had lived in since he was a sixteen year old cadet in the ZAFT academy.

"This was taken by a local. She's a pretty famous war photographer. Still young, but has real talent. In another decade she'll be known as one of the greatest journalists of all time."

"A local?"

"Yeah, her name's Miriallia Haww. Have you heard of her?"

Dearka froze. Then, a slow wave of realization washed over him. Of course. Not very many people from that peaceful town in Orb voluntarily involved themselves with war. On a subconscious level, he had already known that it was Miriallia. It also explained why he had been so drawn to that one photograph over all of the others.

The realization was followed by regret. Two years ago, when Miriallia first told him that she wanted to become a professional war photographer, the only thing he had felt was horror. They had just lived through two years of war, and lost many people and many things they held dear to their hearts. He could not understand, simply _refused_ to understand, why she would want to relive hell all over again. They had found stability -a normal, peaceful life- and all he wanted was to maintain that normalcy.

Miriallia looked him straight in his eyes and called him out for being the coward that he was.

And she was truly, absolutely right. He knew that she would make a difference –and that he could, too, if he had wanted to. The world needed people like them to recount the war, to make sure that the world did not forget the horror and pain, and yet he shied away from that duty.

Her words stung more than he wanted to admit, and in an attempt to protect his sorry self, he retaliated by accusing her of still being in love with Tolle.

The very second those words left his lips, he wanted nothing more than to take it back. It was a terrible, terrible accusation. The subject of Tolle in itself was like a landmine –Miriallia had grown up with him, and they had basically shared every moment of their childhood until he was killed in battle. Miriallia had not forgotten him, by any means. Dearka knew that she still cried sometimes, late at night when she thought Dearka was sleeping, and it was not too hard to figure out who those tears were for.

But what made it even worse was that Dearka _knew_ that despite all of that, Miriallia did genuinely love him. Even though the circumstances in which they met was far from ideal, they had managed to work through them and form a bond. A relationship based on love.

He had essentially discredited their effort, their trust, her love, in a single sentence.

After that, it was one scathing remark after another. By the end of the night, there was too much that had been said that couldn't be taken back. Miriallia slapped him once, hard, and told him to leave. He could still recall her expression, one of unmistakable pain, and the tears in her eyes.

He still loved her, and he knew that at that moment, she still loved him too. But he ran away from it all. He packed his bag and left, running away from the heartbreak of hurting the person you love most.

"_You are mad at yourself for letting her go."_

It was exactly as Shiho once so aptly said. He never should have left Miriallia. He should have stayed and apologized for everything that he said that he didn't mean. Explain to her why he was so afraid. Hear why she wanted to head back to the battlefield and fight a different kind of battle.

"Yes, I've heard of her."

"She is absolutely delightful."

Her bright smile and her soft green eyes flashed in his mind, and he felt a longing pain in his heart.

"Yes, yes she is."

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><p><em>Here's the second chapter! Hope it was worth your while, please review!<br>_


	3. Chapter 3

Knocking on her apartment door was the hardest thing he had ever had to do. More so than the two grueling years at the Academy, or confronting Yzak after deserting during the First War.

He could feel his heart almost stop beating as he raised his fist to knock on the door.

He knocked once, twice, thrice. Miriallia was never a fan of people pounding on her door. Almost immediately, a wave of panic washed over him. He had not even checked if she was going to be there that night. She could have been in her studio, for all he knew; she always had been a little bit of a workaholic. Or she could have been out with her friends, since she never had a shortage of adoring friends wanting to spend time with her. Or worse, what if she had been out with a new guy? Even worse, what if she had been _in_ with a new guy? He did not sure if he would be able to survive the heartbreak of seeing her answer her door, scantily clad, with a new male figure standing behind her.

He closed his eyes and clenched his fist. After a few seconds of silence, he heard soft footsteps approaching the door and literally felt as though his heart was going to stop. This was the moment of truth. The footsteps stopped about two feet in front of him, and he heard a faint gasp from the other side of the door.

After what felt like an eternity, the door opened slowly.

It had been two years since he last saw her. She had not changed much. Lost a few pounds, perhaps, but other than that she was exactly as he remembered. The expression on her face was an indescribable mixture of shock, pain, and if he dared to believe it, the slightest hint of affection.

"Hi."

His voice was raspy and nervous, and he could feel his heart pumping in his head. He was almost tempted to turn around and run away like he had two years ago, but he clenched his fist and fought the urge. This was the one last battle he had to fight.

"…What are you doing here?"

Her voice was slightly lower than he remembered, and it reminded him of the amount of time they had spent apart. They were both different people from the two terrified teenagers they were when they parted. Being nineteen might not have made them adults, but they were definitely closer to it than when they were seventeen.

"I wanted to see you."

She stared at him for a few more seconds with probing eyes. She still seemed completely bewildered by his sudden appearance, but after what seemed like an eternity, she shifted in the doorway to let him in.

xoxox

Dearka silently sat on the kitchen stool while Miriallia placed a kettle on the stove. The last remnants of prepubescent awkwardness that laced her actions had completely disappeared, and now she moved with the grace of a grown woman. They had not exchanged any words since he stepped foot into the apartment, and the only noise that filled the air was the quiet clinking of mugs and spoons.

"Miriallia."

She froze with her hand still on the kettle. He could not see her expression hidden under a soft curtain of her hair. He had dreamed of this moment for much too long, contemplating every word that he would say to her when he saw her. He had a speech carefully planned out, because he knew that what he said could decide whether he would be happy for the rest of his life. But the silence was suffocating, and the soft hissing of the kettle would not let him concentrate. What ended up coming out of his mouth was much more clumsy and unpolished than what he originally had in mind.

"I still love you."

He almost winced as the sound left his lips. He used to be much more suave back in the days. Yzak could vouch for the number of girls he seduced with his sweet words during the days of the military academy. But those were the days before he met Miriallia, who had reduced him to a silly, bumbling, love-struck boy.

He supposed this was more like him.

"I'm sorry for being an ass. And being extremely immature. I'm sorry for being insecure and stupid and a coward. I'm sorry that I didn't understand what you wanted to do back then, and I'm sorry for ever doubting that you cared about me. And I am sorry that I ran away instead of trying to fix what I did wrong. I am a huge idiot."

She quietly let go of the kettle and turned towards him. Her face was stiff.

"Yes, you are an idiot."

She spoke slowly, deliberately, as if she was carefully choosing her words.

"I'm sorry, Mir. And if there is any chance of you forgiving me…give me a second chance."

"Dearka…"

"I never stopped loving you. There wasn't a day that I didn't think about you."

She glared at him for a few moments, and he felt like his heart was going to stop. But before his brain could fully comprehend her response, her expression turned into one of incredulity.

"I knew you were an idiot, but I didn't think you were that much of an idiot."

It was Dearka's turn to be dumbfounded.

"I don't understand."

"So you come back here, two years later, to tell me that you want to be with me again?"

By then, a hint of amusement had crept up into her features, and Dearka was completely lost. He had thought about the different reactions he would receive, but incredulity was not one of them.

"I guess so you could put it that way?"

"What is this, some kind of stupid romance novel? Really, Dearka, really."

Miriallia sighed and sat down on a stool across from his. A faint smile crawled on her face. She looked tired; the kind of expression that would have been more appropriate on a seventy year old than a girl of barely twenty. But then, again, he knew he looked like that too. Everybody from his generation did. The two wars had taken much more than lives. They were all worn, exhausted –all they wanted was some resemblance of normalcy.

"I missed you too, Dearka."

"Mir…"

"It wasn't just you. I know I was immature as well, and I should have handled things better. But do you think things would be any different now, just because we're older? I'm a little too tired to try something, get emotionally invested, and then find out later that it won't work after all."

"Don't say that, Mir."

"All I want is something stable. Someone who will always be there. I'm tired of saying goodbyes."

The kettle started to whistle, and Miriallia stood back up to turn the stove off. Her shoulders seemed frailer than he had remembered.

"I can do that."

She paused, but did not turn around. He stood up and took two steps towards her. All he wanted to do was to holder her in his arms, but he knew she did not want that that. It would be easy to pretend like nothing had ever happened, and allow that one part of them that still vividly remembered what life had been like together take over. But things _had_ changed since, and certain things had to be made right first.

"How do I know that you can?"

Her voice betrayed the smallest hint of uncertainty. He could tell that deep down, she wanted to believe as well. He just did not know how he could actually convince her. What was it that actually motivated him to come all the way down to Orb, anyway? Miriallia had called his actions worthy of some "stupid romance novel," but he knew that he was not just some star struck idealist.

The war itself was part of it. The war had made him crave for something normal, something peaceful –and he found out the hard way that there was no hope for him to achieve any kind of internal peace without her. Shiho Hahnenfuss was another part. Watching Yzak try to rebuild his world after her death made him realize that he never wanted to lose Miriallia the way Yzak lost Shiho.

In the end, he decided to keep it simple.

"You mean the world to me, Mir. I will be here for you because I can't bear the idea of losing you again, and can't imagine living the rest my life without you."

He then reached for her shoulder and turned her around. She slowly met his gaze. And there they were, her soft, green eyes: the same gentle hue that he remembered so well.

The faintest smile crept into the corner of her lips.

"You are a huge idiot."

He could feel his expression softening as well. He replied with a chuckle.

"You already said that."

"I know."

Miriallia looked down and continued, her tone a little more serious.

"Promise me one thing."

"Whatever you want."

"You are going to make this work. _We_ are going to make this work."

She looked up again, this time with a wider smile. Dearka slowly reached out to her, unable to control the smile on his face either. And when he felt Miriallia's thin arms around him, he knew everything had fallen into place. It had taken them years to figure it out, but at the end of it all, they did. And if only for that one, short moment, everything was right in the world and nothing could have ever fazed them. Just like the past had been filled with challenges and misunderstandings, there were going to be problems in their future, too. But this time, _this time_, they were going to get through. They were together, and that was all they ever really needed.

It had been a long, long journey back home.

* * *

><p><em>SO. Here goes. This is the end of <em>Loose Ends_. Thank you all for reading and supporting this fic to the end, I know the updates were not consistent and it took me a long time to complete the you again, and, as always, reviews are very much welcome!  
><em>

_As I mentioned before, this is a spin-off of a much longer Yzak/Shiho fic called_ Remembrance _that I've__ been writing... If any of you are interested in the back story, or are curious about the few allusions to Yzak/Shiho I made in this fic, please check it out as well! I also plan on having this Dearka/Mir pair have a cameo appearance in the epilogue of _Remembrance_._


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